Anopheles: A World War II Tale

Final Scene

A frigid grey sky hung over the Atlantic, the ocean surface was a constant ebb and flow, whitecaps rocking up and down in a pulsing rhythm.  A slick of oil skimmed the surface along with bits and pieces of  wooden debris.  From the opaque sky drifted a sea gull, swooping down it took rest on one of the larger scored planks, the bird pecked at the edges.  The letters A-N-O-P-H decorated most of the broken timber.  Finding the landing place to offer little nutrition or interest the bird flew off, navigating closer to the coast.  It's keen eyes scanned the water's surface.  A glint of silver could mean a fish, a discarded tin, or a piece of a recently demolished ship.

Another object of interest attracted the gulls attention.  It began a downward spiral, coming to land on a large empty gas drum.  Pecking at the surface emitted a loud thrum.  The face of a man, drew the birds attention, he cried out with a skaw, spreading out his wings, and backing off a step.  This was not the place a human should be expected.  Two large brown eyes stared at him, the mouth panted and spat out water, teeth chattering.  Amos's aching fingers were grasping either end of the drum.

He had been praying for help, he couldn't see that this gull was going to be his salvation.  He kicked his feet, holding fast to the drum.  He could see the defused light from the west was dimming, a night of cold was his future.  He was unsure that he could sustain himself through the long hours of cold and dark.  Kick, kicking was the only thing he could do.  That and thinking.  He thought about Anopheles and Frank, attaching the gasoline drum to the hatch, jumping to the other side of the submarine, away from the schooner and swimming as hard as he could.  Then there was the explosion, something went wrong with the sub.  His intent was to flood a portion of the boat, slow its escape, not to destroy it.  When Amos turned at the erupting sound he saw Anopheles rising into the air and splintering apart.  Oil from the U-boat and broken timbers from the schooner covered the water.

Swimming to where Anopheles had been, there was no sign of Frank.  The gas drum was the only object he found to be of use.  For hours he kicked his feet, hoping he was moving closer to shore.  And he prayed.  Then this bird, useless bird, Amos thought.  He sits there staring at me.  His thoughts turned to his family, his wife Sarah, Amos junior, and Bessie, and now Bessie's daughter Mona.  I can't die like this.  I have my stories.  My collections, of birds, and animals, cloud shapes and sky colors, so many colors.  Babies need to have a grandpa telling them stories.  Amos couldn't tell if those were tears or salt water burning his eyes.  He kicked, he had to get back to Charleston and his family.

Night came on with subtle variations muting from grey and then to black.  The ocean swells continued the unending rise and fall, and the strong chop.  At times Amos could feel that he was being twisted further out to sea.  He had to let his intuition and sea sense take control, steering him to land, not to the ocean depths.  Kicking, unending kicking.

The gull's wings flapped with a woosh, bringing Amos's face up from the water.  He knew it was dangerous, resting, that way.  His neck ached, he ached all over.  His body wanted to let go, relax, float on the undulating ocean, but he knew better, letting go would be the end.  Then he remembered the noise, his helper had abandoned him, some help!  The coast and sky ahead was a ribbon of darkness.  Behind, to the east, he could sense that the sun was slipping higher, casting a dull yellow glow.  His arm strength was weakening, can't go much longer.  He was alone.

Then he began to hallucinate.  He remembered from the Navy, symptoms of exposure.  The mind falling into crazy dreams.  In a haze his thoughts were drawn to the Gullah folks, singing, dancing, and the food.  Most of all he heard Gullah voices telling family stories, Barrier Island genealogies.  The aching in his arms had become unbearable, he put his face down and wept.  He was going to slip into the water, the cold would accept him and pull him down to his final place of rest.

His head began to buzz, he felt a vortex pulling him down into the dark, mindless cold.  Then he was being tossed about, pulled at, and strange voices shouting, "Amos, Cousin Amos.  What you do'in out her floatin' in this big ocean with that ol' noisy sea bird." They laid their cousin back in the shallow hold, covering him with their heavy jackets.  Amos looked around to see his Gullah family, warm smiling faces, and out on the water he could see the gas drum floating away, and the bird returning to lite upon it with a Skaw.